


Regaining Memories

by Hekate1308



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Croatoan Virus, Episode: s05e04 The End, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd almost forgotten what Dean had been like before everything. Future/2014!Castiel character piece at the end of 5x04.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regaining Memories

He had almost forgotten.

Throughout their whole – throughout their whole interaction, this was what kept playing in his head: He had almost forgotten.

He had almost forgotten what Dean had been like before the Apocalypse. Before the virus. Before Sam said Yes.

And he couldn't say whether remembering was a good thing.

He'd grown used to the Dean who killed people in cold blood when they were infected; to the Dean who didn't care about anything.

At first it had hurt. He had stayed behind when his brothers left because he hadn't wanted to leave his friend.

And then his friend had left him.

Or, rather, not only him; he had just... left.

It had happened so gradually that at first he hadn't noticed, believed it to be a normal reaction. To watch the World being taken over by a virus and only able to save a few people certainly was enough to make anyone depressed.

But Dean hadn't just become depressed. He had become cold.

He never let anyone know what he was thinking or planning, except bringing down Lucifer. He never smiled. He never relaxed. He never looked at another human as something different than a potential victim.

Before he'd buried himself in drugs and women – before he'd given up – Cas had tried to talk to him. Several times. But Dean had never listened, had always walked away.

Sometimes, Cas, remembering the first time he'd taken drugs, wondered if he'd still ended up where he was now – a junkie who couldn't keep his hands to himself – if the old Dean, the one now sitting next to him and staring out the window, hadn't left. Yes, he would have been desperate, but he would have had a friend.

It didn't matter. Because he was a junkie and Dean was nothing but the shell of the man he'd been, and nothing could change that.

He remembered the last time they had talked. It had been his final desperate attempt to make Dean care, to see the man he'd known resurface.

At first he'd expected that it would end as all their talks did, with Dean running away before they'd said more than a few words.

But, inexplicably, when he'd asked if they could talk, this time he'd led in the way into his cabin. Cas had felt more hopeful than he had in months. Maybe things could change. Maybe they could get back the profound bond they'd once shared.

"What is it?" Dean demanded as soon as they were alone, alone for the first time in so long, and Cas swallowed. He had to know; he had to realize what he wanted. He was just pretending he had no idea.

"Dean" he said slowly, "I'm concerned about you".

The other man laughed, a short, bitter laugh that would never have escaped his mouth before the end of time, and Cas flinched.

"Really? You are the only one" he answered abruptly, walking over to a table and picking up a gun to pretend to inspect it.

"That's not true" he argued. "There's Chuck, there's – "

Dean looked at him, and the emptiness in his eyes was enough to make him stop talking. The hunter shook his head and repeated, "You are the only one, Castiel" even as Cas understood that Dean didn't care that he cared.

In the same moment he realized that Dean hadn't called him by his name in a long time. Not to mention the abbreviation of his name.

He couldn't remember when he'd last used the nickname he'd grown so used to that he introduced himself as "Cas" to any new survivor who made it into their own little hell, but he knew there had been a time – when Dean has still cared – when the older Winchester had called him by his real name.

As he realized this time was gone, as he realized Dean most likely didn't call anyone by his name anymore, he understood that he wouldn't succeed. He had stopped caring. His friend was gone.

Dean sighed and shook his head. "You are just as useless as the rest of us, aren't you?"

It hurt more than he'd thought it would. He'd wondered about it now and then, if people looked at him differently because he had been an angel; but to be told, and by Dean of all people, that he was useless, that he couldn't help them now...

He left and didn't return. The never spoke in private again.

This was the night he first tried cocaine. One of the guys who'd made it to their camp had been, or rather still was, a drug dealer, and he'd offered him a deal several times already, but Cas had always declined. Until that evening.

The drugs made everything easier. He was human, he was useless, but he was allowed to have fun, wasn't he? After all, the Winchesters were the only reason he'd stayed behind to become human. He deserved to have something to make him feel better.

Not long after that, he discovered sex and realized why humans had always been so desperate to get it. He couldn't even remember the girl's name afterwards; they had both been high. But he knew that it had been good, and that he wanted more.

He didn't neglect his duties, however. He still did what Dean told him, he still got supplies and fought the infected and he still looked out for the hunter when they were out of the camp, and sometimes he fooled himself into thinking that there was still some bond between them because Dean looked at him in a way that made him believe he'd asked for his help or checked that he was okay.

He wasn't happy, but he was coping. He had drugs, he had women, he could fight.

And then the Dean from the past showed up and reminded him of everything he had lost. Sam. Dean. The family he'd never known he had wanted until it was too late.

And this past Dean – he was so –

He was so caring. He demanded what had happened to him, he seemed concerned about the drugs, about the orgies he had. It almost looked like –

It almost looked like he wanted to fix him.

Cas would have laughed if it hadn't been so sad. He was broken, he was lost, and nothing could fix him. The old Castiel was gone, just like this Dean who was trying to understand what had happened and at the same time scared it might happen to him.

Cas was sure that it would. The angels would make sure it would unless Dean said yes.

And yet, despite everything, he still found the thought of his friend being Michael's vessel as inacceptable as he'd always had. Even though he knew what he would become, even though he needed a fix every time he heard a demon scream during one of Dean's "interrogations".

It was another thing he'd forgotten, how reluctant Dean had been to torture demons. Once upon a time.

He'd meant what he said. He liked past Dean. He liked the Dean he'd come to know and think about as his best friend, not the stranger who was controlling the camp.

And it was for this, for what they'd once been rather than what they were now, that he followed him wherever he led them.

At least it would be over soon.

He knew that past Dean didn't think he was aware that they were on a suicide mission; but he knew. He'd known from the moment their leader had informed them he had the Colt.

It would all be over soon and he was grateful for it. He was useless; he was powerless; he was an addict. Death seemed like a gift.

Past Dean wouldn't see it that way. Past Dean couldn't see it that way.

But, perhaps, he suddenly realized as he was loading his gun and looked at the stranger who had taken the place of his best friend so long ago, perhaps even he wasn't indifferent.

Perhaps he still cared, somewhere deep inside his soul, perhaps he didn't want this.

Until he'd looked up, he'd been convinced Dean didn't care, hadn't cared about anything but bringing down Lucifer for a long time.

And then he saw the look in his eyes.

It was gone again almost immediately; Cas could have imagined it; there was every reason to believe he had imagined it.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to believe he had imagined the flash of regret in Dean's eyes.

It made everything – it made everything easier. Just a little bit. But it did.

From the corner of his eye, he saw past Dean drag their leader away. He knew what he wanted to talk about.

If only he knew that he welcomed Death. And at least he would do something good. If their Dean managed to kill Lucifer...

There was still hope for this World.

And he had to cling to this hope because it was all he had left.

Before he left with he turned around, hoping to see past Dean for the last time, to remember, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, their leader shouted at them to get going.

There was an inhuman look in his eyes, and suddenly Cas was scared that he had harmed his past self. The thought was ridiculous, of course, but he couldn't help it. This man would allow nothing and no one to get in his way, and he was sure that his friend had tried to prevent him from sending them to their deaths.

He was grateful to him, even if he wanted to die. He was grateful he'd seen him again before the end, even though it had hurt.

He'd remembered what it was like to have someone consider him a friend. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Risa didn't know they would die, and he wished he could keep her from coming with him, but she wouldn't listen to him. Nobody listened to him these days. It was his own fault. If he wasn't high all the time...

But regret was of no use now. Now, they had to keep Dean's back free long enough to allow him to kill Lucifer.

Risa fell first. While he hadn't expected to be able to protect her, he'd hoped he wouldn't have to watch someone else die. But it was no use. He was too far away – or rather, there were too many infected between them, really, Dean had been right, he was useless, he should never have allowed this to happen – and he couldn't shoot them all.

They ripped her apart.

He didn't feel anything but the adrenaline cursing through his veins, once again proving that he was already dead inside, had been for God knew how long.

He could still fight, though. He could give Dean the time he needed.

Somehow he managed to flee into another room, barricading the door. They would break it down soon enough, but he would be able to take out several of them; they couldn't all get in at once.

During this last few moments, reloading his weapon and listening to their attempts to open the door, he found himself hoping that Dean, past Dean, had made it home. He had seen what had happened; and maybe he would find a way to prevent it. Maybe. Maybe not. It didn't matter to him anyway.

But still, he was hoping Dean was safe.

And, as they finally broke down the door and rushed at him and he went down fighting, he clung to this hope just as he was holding unto the one that their leader would kill Lucifer.

It was the last thing he'd ever feel after all.


End file.
